


Making up for Lost Time

by burngormanlesbian



Series: I will walk down to the end with you [2]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Movie: Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018), hermann is the softest, just pure indulgent hurt and comfort, my heart is still broken over uprising and this is my only way of fixing it, newt deserves to be happy and he's getting better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-25 22:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14388768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burngormanlesbian/pseuds/burngormanlesbian
Summary: Hermann saved Newt from the control of the Precursors. Now they're trying to adjust to their new relationship and make each other happy again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an optional continuation to my previous fic, wherein Hermann saved Newt from the control of the Precursors. In order for this series to make as much sense as possible, I'd recommend you read that one first. You're free to interpret what happened after that particular piece however you like, but unfortunately writing it didn't mend my broken heart and I need to write a continuation. Please enjoy the pure indulgence that this will inevitably become.

The bright orange mid-evening sun bathes the hospital room in a sobering rosy glow, casting upon Newt’s sleeping body and setting his bruised face aglow in a myriad of oranges and yellows. His breathing is steady, even, peaceful. His heart monitor (not necessary, but Hermann had insisted they take every precaution in light of recent events) keeps tempo with the rise and fall of his chest. Hermann is slumped in a chair beside him, basking in the sunset, also asleep. 

It’s been a long few days.

Newt was freed of the Precursors’ control three days ago. Since then he’s been thrown through a whirlwind of tests, interrogations, he’s been hooked up to every monitor and scanner under the sun, been signed up to therapy, and prescribed seven different types of medication for everything ranging from anxiety to blood pressure to iron deficiency. He’s barely had chance to breathe, let alone sit and have a full conversation with the man who saved his life by confessing his love for him. This is the first real moment of complete respite.

Somehow, Hermann has used his “I saved the world twice” credentials to get Newt transferred to a private hospital a few miles inland. They wanted to keep him in the Shatterdome, in the infirmary there; probably to keep running tests on him. Hermann had all but blown up at the Marshal at the that. “He’s been locked up in that basement for months, and now you’re going to keep him in the Shatterdome?” he’d yelled across the conference table. Apparently, Hermann’s infallible loyalty to his superiors only stretched so far, if Newt was included in the equation. “He’d still be a prisoner, just in a hospital bed instead of a torture chair! He deserves some normalcy after all of this. He deserves to see sunlight again.”

Two days later, after the medics had deemed him fit for travel (and the higher-ups had gotten all the data they could off him), Newt had been moved inland and given a private room with flowers by his bedside, fresh blankets and the best view in the building.

The sun is almost set when Newt finally stirs and eases himself awake. He doesn’t move for a while; his head aches and this bed is almost unbearably comfortable. He half sits and half lies, propped up on far too many pillows, staring up at the ceiling and the faint cracks running through the paintwork. He listens to his monitor beeping reassuringly, telling him his heart is still beating. Everything is okay.

Eventually, he shifts onto his side, away from the sun that’s starting to blind him as it slips behind the taller buildings on the horizon, to face Hermann. He didn’t actually realise he was sitting there. Hermann breathes so quietly, is completely restful. Bruises and scratches still pepper his face and neck, pink and purple and healing, but still bright and starkly contrasting his otherwise pale face. Injuries that, although no one’s told him as such, Newt knows he put there. His gut twists in what he can only identify as guilt. He’s hurt so many people, put so many people in danger. Most stomach-wrenchingly of all, he’s hurt Hermann.

He reaches across the space between them, slowly, places his hand on Hermann’s arm. He shakes him gently. “Hermann,” he whispers. “Hermann, wake up.” He feels bad for waking him, especially since Newt is sure that this is the most sleep he’s had in a long time, but this is important.

Hermann wakes with a sharp intake of breath, startled. He looks shocked, worried, until his eyes come into focus and he sees Newt and relaxes somewhat. He stretches, twists his neck. “Good evening,” he says with a yawn. He leans forward, picks up the mug he’s left on the side table, and brings it to his mouth. This is promptly followed by him spitting cold tea back into the mug and grimacing, clearly only registering just now that hot drinks left unattended whilst one takes a three-hour nap will, unfortunately, very likely go cold. He wipes his mouth on his cardigan sleeve. “Are you hungry, dear?” he asks Newt, sitting back in his chair.

Newt shakes his head. Hermann sighs.

“You need to eat, Newton,” he says gently. “Even if it’s just something small. I’ll call one of the nurses, have them bring you some soup. I believe it’s tomato today, you like that. I doubt they’ll have much else, it’s long past dinner time, but they’ll surely spare something for you-” his ramblings are cut off when he looks up and sees tears in Newt’s eyes. 

Any concerns about Newt’s eating pattern are suddenly non-existent and Hermann is rising from his chair and settling heavily on the bed, taking Newt’s hands in his and clasping them to his chest.

“Newton,” Hermann coaxes, almost breathless. He threads one hand through Newt’s hair, ruffling it past the unruly mess that it already is. “Newton, dear, what’s wrong? Please don’t cry- listen, how about I just make you some tea? That might be easier to keep down… do you still take your tea black? Putting milk in might be more forgiving on your stomach-”

“For Christ’s sake, Hermann, this isn’t about the fucking food!” Newt all but screams at him. Regret seeps cold through him almost immediately, seeing Hermann shocked into silence; hand shaking around Newt’s. Wow, he really does keep fucking up, huh? A fresh wave of tears threatens to spill over onto his cheeks. Salt stings the scratches around his eyes. “Shit, I-”

Hermann only squeezes his hand tighter. He uses his free hand to wipe the tears from his chin, poises his palm lightly around his jaw. He swallows. “Then, what is it?” God, he’s too lovely. Newt doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t deserve to be treated so kindly, especially not by Hermann. 

His lip quivers as he gives in to his urge to sob.

“I’m...I’m so fucking sorry,” he chokes out, practically folding on himself as he’s racked with sobs.

Hermann freezes. Saving Newt from the Precursors? Easy. Piece of cake. Didn’t even break a sweat. But Newt _crying_? Now you’ve got him stumped.

“Newton…” Hermann bites the inside of his lip (a habit he didn’t have until he drifted with Newt), face creased in all degrees of shock and worry and _panic_. Cautiously, he places his hands on Newt’s shaking shoulders. “Newton, why are you apologising? What do you have to be sorry for?” he’s trying to stay calm, trying to reassure Newt, but he’s well aware that his voice is quivering.

“For-!” Newt looks up, earnest green eyes wet and burning, full of urgency and pain, words catching in his throat. “For everything! Fucking- fucking everything, okay?!” He bites back what he knows will turn into a scream if he lets it reach the front of his tongue. “I ruined everything. Everything’s so fucked up now, because of _me_. I hurt so many people, Hermann, fuck- I hurt _you_ -”

Before he can say any more, he’s suddenly pressed up against Hermann’s chest, hands limp by his side, Hermann squeezing him tight, ever tighter, against his chest, both arms wrapped around Newt’s torso and face buried in his tear-sodden neck. He can’t really breathe, but he doesn’t have the strength, or the will, to fight back.

“You stop that,” Hermann hisses, low and assured and aggressive, but overwhelmingly _warm_. “ _Now_. Really, Newton, do you ever shut up?” He makes a sound that’s probably supposed to be laughter. “You’re not going to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself for something you didn’t have control over. I won’t have it.”

Frustrated at Hermann’s obnoxious attempts at reassurance, Newt pushes himself out of the other man’s grasp and takes hold of his forearms. He can barely see Hermann through tears; they just won’t stop coming, hot, angry, and determined to keep him miserable. “It was still me, Hermann!” he’s shouting, and he’s telling himself to stop, but volume is one thing he’s never really had control over, especially not when he’s this heated and utterly fucking _sick_ of everything. Everything being Hermann. “I was conscious through all of what happened! I was just watching myself do it - I was watching everything go to shit, and I couldn’t do anything about it! I could’ve tried- I _should’ve_ tried harder, I should have been stronger, I should-” he’s cut off by his own manic sobbing, tripping over his own tongue, struggling out syllables over hiccups, until he settles for growling and breathing heavily with gritted teeth. He’s on the verge of a panic attack, he can definitely feel the icy cold void setting in, his breathing becoming more erratic with every laboured inhale.

Hermann, however, is having none of it. He braces his own hands against Newt’s forearms as well, locking them into a desperate Roman handshake, and bows his head so his eyes are level with Newt’s. “Newton,” he coaxes, calmly but with an edge of urgency on the first syllable. “Newton, for goodness’ sake, _look at me_. There,” he almost praises when Newt forces himself to make eye contact. Hermann’s eyes are as earnest as ever, hazel brown framed by abnormally long lashes, unblinking, unflinching. “Now, listen to me. Listen to me, and- Newt, I swear- do _not_ take your eyes off me. Please. You may believe what you want to, but you will _also_ believe this: I will not allow you to blame yourself for what happened. I for one do not blame you for any of it. _Especially_ what you - they - did to me. I know… I know you would never hurt me. Your constant belittling of my calculations and insulting my fashion sense all the time, when we worked together, certainly came close… but that was always just… friendly banter. As you called it.”

Newt tries to laugh, but just ends up coughing out a fresh bout of tears. He’s still looking at Hermann, fingertips digging into the soft skin of his forearms, visibly shaking. “It’s just…” he says. “I just keep thinking…”

“Don’t,” Hermann cuts him off. “That never leads anywhere good.” That gets a laugh from Newt. A genuine laugh. It’s the first time Hermann’s heard it in so long. It’s a sad moment, it’s not a time of respite or of levity - in fact, everything aches right about now, watching Newt tear himself apart like this - but just hearing one real laugh from him sets Hermann’s heart ablaze. He’s reminded of why he’d suffered for this stupid, tragic, _brilliant_ man. 

“I’ve been thinking for a while, actually,” Newt tries to pick up the mood, but he can only manage so much when he can barely speak through his tears. “That if none of this happened- if I hadn’t lost it and left you- what we could’ve had, you know? I loved you the whole time. I realised it so long ago, and I’ve been living with that- not being able to do anything about it for ten years, and if all of this hadn’t… we could’ve been so happy, you know, Hermann? None of this had to happen- damnit: we could’ve been anywhere by now, and instead I’m stuck in this damn hospital after nearly ending the world, and we… what even are we, Hermann? What is this? Hermann?”

Oh, fuck. 

“Hermann, why are _you_ crying?”

He never makes a scene when he cries. In the twenty years he’s known him, Newt has only seen Hermann cry twice. 

Once: after they closed the Breach, in the midst of celebration. Newt had thought nothing of it - nearly everyone was a little teary that day. Maybe Newt had just hugged him too hard. 

Twice: on the anniversary of his mother’s death. Hermann had shut himself away all morning, and when he’d finally shown up to the lab, his eyes were ringed with red and his face was buried in a handkerchief, and he didn’t say a word all day. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon up at his chalkboard, blunting out every stick of chalk to his name, supposedly in hot pursuit of some scientific revelation - although Newt knew that he was just trying to occupy himself. That’s what Hermann did whenever he came close to feeling something resembling emotion: he buried himself in his maths, forever rejecting the politics and poetry of his heart; too many unfulfilled promises to count, so he counted Kaiju and death and destruction instead. Hermann wasn’t an emotional man. Newt believed that he’d been emotional, once upon a time, and then the harsh science of it all had come screaming into his life, he’d been betrayed one too many times, lost one too many loved ones, and he’d sworn that he would never allow emotion to betray him again.

In spite of what Hermann may deny, Newt knows he’s right about this.

So why is he _crying_?

Newt’s really at a loss for words, so all he’s capable of doing is rubbing Hermann’s arms tentatively, wishing, willing, Hermann to look at him. _Stop that, please. I don’t know what to do about this_. 

“Shut up,” Hermann finally says, voice hoarse and thick. “I’m serious. _Shut up_.” He looks at Newt, eyes swimming, lashes stuck together. “Honestly, sometimes I wish… I wish you’d never open your mouth again. All your words ever do is infuriate me or bring me to tears.” There’s definitely a harshness to his tone, but it’s not malicious. It seems to be coming from a place of desperation rather than anger. He catches himself before he goes any further; because he’s certain that if he doesn’t change his tone right now, Newt will be truly inconsolable.

Without giving any warning, he reaches for Newt’s face and takes it in his hands, cold hands cradling burning skin. “You infuriate me. You drive me to tears, Newton. But here is something that I do not wish.” His left thumb strokes Newt’s wet cheek. “I do not wish for _anything different_.

“If there was a way we could go back to before all of this, I would not wish for it. I have spent far too many nights lying awake wondering what could have been; I have hated myself for so long, thinking it was all my fault - I do not wish for all that to have been for nothing. We can’t afford to reminisce, Newton. Not now, not after all this. We have been through… far, _far_ too much to look back and wonder what we missed out on. Because we are here now! You are alive and I am here with you, and why should _anything else_ matter?” Hermann is talking through his tears. He’s worked himself up into a panic that can only be subdued by a soliloquy, but his voice is steady through the crying and he speaks with the same level of firmness and earnest and worldly-wiseness as a man who has been through hell itself and spoken face to face with death. In some ways, he certainly is that man. “You broke my heart when you left all those years ago. You broke my heart when you turned on me, when you turned on the world, and I thought I’d lost you. You’ve hurt me so many times, Newton, of course you have! But it took you breaking my heart, for me to realise that I’m in love you!”

No sooner has Newt registered these words, than he is collapsing his entire weight onto Hermann’s chest, wrapping his arms around his waist, and crying so hard and loud the entire room seems to shake. He’s always been an ugly crier, but now he screams into Hermann’s collarbone, not caring that he’s smearing all forms of fluid over his nice shirt. _Fuck you, Hermann_ , he wants to say. _Fuck you for being so goddamn emotionally eloquent. You’re supposed to be the math guy, the one who doesn’t feel anything. Fuck you for being so good at hitting me where it hurts_.

Instead, the words he finds leaving his mouth are, “Goddamnit, I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, Newt,” Hermann plays idly with Newt’s sun-glossed hair, eyes unflinching at the angry late evening sun as he rests his chin atop Newt’s head. “And I promise, with my all heart, that we will make up for the time we lost.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where we move from hurt/comfort to pure self indulgence, my friends.

It’s another week before Newt gets the OK to go home. Except.

Newt doesn’t exactly have a home anymore. His seven-figure high rise capitalist dreamland had been broken into, ransacked, and cleared out mere days after the whole trying to end the world incident, and Newt had either been too possessed or too frail to do anything about finding himself a new place to live. Besides, Shao had frozen his assets after he went rogue on her. He doesn’t have a penny to his name; just a few shirts, paperwork, and Hermann by his side.

So that’s how it turns out. With nowhere else to go, Newt ends up back at the Moyulan Shatterdome. Newt isn’t terribly excited about this outcome - if he’s being completely honest, he’s absolutely dreading being anywhere near that place. Those months in the basement… to say they traumatised him is an understatement. He’d rather be out on the streets than back underground in the very place he was locked up and tortured for weeks on end. Still, that’s what therapy’s for, he supposes. He’ll grow to love the labyrinth of corridors and the everpresent stench of tar and oil and the terrible, tiny bedrooms with flickering lightbulbs and walls that haven’t been painted in twenty years again, he hopes. And sleeping with Hermann will always be a bonus, too.

Newt had expected Hermann to file a request for a room for Newt, but as it turned out, Hermann had every intention of doing the exact opposite: meaning going out of his way to ensure Newt would be sharing a room with him. He had, in fact, filed a request for a larger bed, an extra dining chair, and a coffeemaker. These, somehow, were all granted to Hermann’s quarters within days. Newt is devilishly delighted at the promise of coffee in bed, and secretly proud of Hermann for his constant exploitation of his credentials. He _is_ the only man on the planet who has had a hand in saving the world twice now, after all; he bloody well should get special treatment. And he’s glad, but overall flustered, about the lengths Hermann has gone to to ensure the two of them will stay together. Hermann, as it turns out, is a true romantic.

His first night there is likely one that he’ll remember forever.

Hermann had suggested they “stay in” tonight, meaning to stay away from everyone else by holing themselves up in Hermann’s room. Newt had been thankful for this beyond words, because if being back at this _verdammt_ place is his worst nightmare, then he’s really not sure what actually walking around and… _interacting_ with people would do to him. Probably kill him. So he jumps at the offer to “stay in” with Hermann; meaning he brushes it off as a convenience. “It’ll give me chance to unpack.” 

Unpack what? His pent-up two decade old affection for his insufferable loser of a penpal-cum-lab partner?

It only takes Newt five minutes to hang his few clothes beside Hermann’s in the now communal wardrobe. He doesn’t bring up the t-shirt that clearly once belonged to him, stuffed into the corner of the wardrobe by that hideous old parka (why does he still have that?); some old band merch he remembers losing when he moved out of the Shatterdome. In the grand scheme of all that’s happened, Hermann secretly holding onto one of Newt’s shirts as a memento of their time together doesn’t seem particularly scandalous. He just smiles to himself and joins Hermann on the not-quite-double bed they’ve been issued, accepting the other man’s embrace without hesitation, and proceeds to nap on his chest for the next few hours.

When he wakes, it takes Newt a few moments to realise that he’s not on top of Hermann anymore. Dazed, he looks around the room with one eye half-open. 

This room is lot bigger than the quarters at their old Shatterdome: their rooms were the size of closets, barely enough room to squeeze in a bed and a table. This one, however, is at least thrice the size of them, enough room for an almost-double bed, wardrobe - even a small kitchen area in the corner. Newt can only wonder what strings Hermann had to pull to get himself allotted such a huge space - although Hermann has never been one to care about his living conditions, so he suspects that perhaps it was just given to him when he moved here. Somehow, it’s more cosy and inviting than Newt’s old apartment; the faint hum of machinery from a few floors up and the smell of tea and chalk and books is familiar and comforting. The walls are still painted that disgusting seaweed-esque army green and the lack of windows makes everything feel stuffy, though.

Hermann is in the little kitchen area, clattering around with mugs and cutlery, clearly trying to be quiet but failing absolutely miserably. He’s now wearing what Newt assumes are his pyjamas: a long sleeved grey shirt and black sweatpants. Newt is appalled at himself when he realises he’s slightly disappointed that Hermann doesn’t wear proper pyjamas - that’s what he’s always envisioned. The kettle wheezes tiredly as it finishes boiling, and Hermann fills two plain white mugs, then brings them over to the bed on a tray. He smiles when he sees that Newt’s awake, placing the tray on the small end table and leaning his cane against it. 

“Good evening, my dear,” he says, planting a kiss on Newt’s forehead. Newt creases up his nose in mock disgust at Hermann’s wanton displays of affection. He’ still not quite used to this; and he never really imagined Hermann to be so full-on and _mushy_ when it came to romance. Although you wouldn’t catch him complaining. He sits across from Newt on the bed, reaching for the tray. Newt can see now that as well as two mugs of tea, it also carries a plate of food - that good Shatterdome standard pasta that Newt always liked despite himself - and a rainbow of pills. “You slept right through dinner, so I went out to fetch you something. Eat.” His voice is soft despite the fact that he’s ordering Newt around like always.

Newt doesn’t need to be told, though. He realised it the other day: he really has gotten too skinny recently. That soft chubbiness around his stomach and thighs has all but disappeared, and his tattoos seem to hang loosely off his stick-thin arms. He’d scared himself half to death looking at himself in a full-length mirror the other day; despite what everyone told him as a kid, he kind of _liked_ being on the chubby side - he liked giving hugs, and liked being hugged, and he liked _eating_. The Precursors hadn’t let him do much of that, and it showed. He’d take a plateful of pure carbs any day.

He eats his pasta in five minutes flat, then Hermann has him take his meds, and pats his back vigorously when he chokes on a tablet (three times, to be exact). He drinks his tea slowly; he’s never been much of a fan of tea, but he’s partial to camomile, and the look Hermann is giving him - some mixture of fondness and apprehension - is too cute for him to turn his nose up at it.

“I was thinking we could watch something,” Hermann says, after Newt finishes his tea. “I have a few documentaries downloaded onto my phone. Would you like to pick one?” He pulls out his phone - clearly new, after he smashed the other one on his way to save Newt - and opens up his video folder. “We don’t have to, it’s, uh, merely an idea, since you’re wanting to stay here-”

“Do you have Blue Planet?”

“Of course.”

They cuddle under the covers for a good few hours, Hermann essentially spooning Newt with his arm hooked around his shoulder, holding his phone out so they can both see the screen. Hermann keeps his commentary to a minimum, only exasperating slightly when Newt points out the out-of-date information and rambles on for a good few minutes about the updated biology of each creature that comes on screen.

“Blue Planet is thirty-four years old, Newton,” Hermann sighs after the sixth time Newt calls Attenborough a dumbass.

“That’s no excuse to not be accurate,” Newt retorts.

“Why do you want to watch this if you’re just going to correct it every ten seconds?”

“Attenborough, dude!” Newt says with a little too much enthusiasm. He burrows further into Hermann’s grasp, further under the blankets until only his eyes and nose are peeking out. “Gotta honour his memory. Also this was, like, my favourite show as a kid. This is what got me into biology!” He’s right: Newt would likely have gone into marine biology if the whole Kaiju thing had never happened. He’s got a PhD in it, somewhere in that hellish mix of qualifications he boasts. His extensive knowledge of marine life is what led him to become the world’s top Kaiju biologist in the first place. He has Attenborough, God rest his soul, to thank for that. 

“That’s you,” Newt says, pointing at a hatchetfish. Hermann slaps his wrist, tells him to shut up, but still buries his nose in Newt’s hair and kisses the top of his head all the same. He gets Newt back later, likening him to a gigantocypris. To which Newt responds by thanking him, because gigantocypris are one of the most efficient deep-sea predators in ratio to their size. 

Three episodes in, Newt estimates it must be around midnight, because Hermann is starting to doze off and the background noise of the rest of the complex has quieted somewhat. He reaches out of the little cocoon he’s made and switches off Hermann’s phone, ignoring and eventually cutting off any protestations Hermann makes by shifting over in the bed and embracing him, resting his head in the crook of his neck. Hermann sighs and turns off the bedside lamp. He settles down beside Newt, holding him close. They’re quiet for a while.

“Cosy,” Newt says after a bit. Hermann hums in agreement. “You’re good at cuddling. Has anyone ever told you that?”

Hermann smiles in the darkness and moves ever closer to the other man. “Unsurprisingly, no. Although I’m glad to hear it.” He runs one hand up Newt’s back through his shirt, pretending to not be worried about the fact that he can feel every bone in his spine. Silence again, for longer, and Hermann’s starting to think that Newt has fallen asleep when he squirms out of his grasp and props himself up on one elbow, looking down at Hermann.

“What?” A faint smile ghosts Hermann’s face, mirroring the one on Newt’s, barely distinguishable as his eyes adjust to the dark.

“I love you,” Newt says quietly, running his fingers through Hermann’s hair.

Hermann doesn’t grace him with a reply; he just smiles and lifts his head off the pillow, lips meeting Newt’s. He moves to cradle the back of Newt’s neck with both hands and he hums into the kiss, smiling against Hermann’s mouth. They don’t break apart for a good while. 

Newt tries not to laugh as he realises that, despite this being the best moment of his life, Hermann really isn’t that good at kissing. He wonders if he’s ever kissed anyone before. He feels like he should say something - the old Newt would probably make fun of him, but then again, the old Newt wouldn’t have the guts to kiss Hermann in the first place, so he doesn’t have a leg to stand on here. Besides...he’s too content and his heart is beating too fast and his stomach feels too warm and his head feels too hazy, and he can’t find it in him to ruin this moment for Hermann, or for himself. He hooks his leg around Hermann’s waist, moving to straddle him, making sure to not press his weight into his bad hip. He takes Hermann’s burning face in his hands, fingers ghosting at the soft curls of hair at his neck, kisses him deeper. Past experiences be damned, they’ve waited far too long to be able to do this.

They truly have. Hermann tries to think back, tries to remember the first time he realised he wanted this. Years ago. He tried to deny it for the longest time: he tried to convince himself it was loathing, not love: he tried to mask every gesture dangerously bordering on affectionate with a snarky comment, hoping that his cold words would balance the warmth in his hands as he played nursemaid every time Newt burnt his hands on acid or sliced his finger open with a scalpel. He supposes he always knew it’d turn out like this in the end, though. He knew, he supposes, it would only be a matter of time before he gave in and kissed the stupid prick.

He just didn’t think it would take quite _that_ long.

Newt had been right in the hospital: they really had lost so much time. Hermann hates himself sometimes, for not saying anything, for not making a move, for not letting Newt know until he was dying in his arms. He chastises the thought, though, because even if Hermann had told him long ago, if he had kissed him back in the lab during one of their spats, in the control room after the breach closed, when they said goodbye after Newt packed up to leave for Shao - if he had done something, _anything_ , would it really have made a difference? Newt would still have been lost to the Precursors. Hermann would still have had to save him. They would’ve still lost all that time. It would’ve hurt no matter what. They’d still be chasing a future ripped away from them ten years ago by forces out of their control. No matter how hard he held onto Newt, Hermann truly couldn’t have done anything back then, other than get his heart broken, and be ten times worse off for it.

He couldn’t do anything then. But he can do something now. He can do something about it; make up for the time they lost. Hold onto him, and never let him go.

_Don’t let him go._

Hermann wraps his arms around Newt’s shoulders, pulling him down, closer to him. He kisses him again, open-mouthed and feverish, relishing in a sudden burst of courage, but before Newt can get too comfortable in this turn of events, Hermann forces them apart and looks into his eyes. He can feel the panic rising in his chest. He pushes it down as far as it’ll go.

_Don’t let him go._

“Newton,” he breathes like he’s just run a marathon. “Newton, I love you,” he can hear the hysteria in his voice, and he slows, locking his hands behind Newt’s neck, catching his breath in the back of his throat. “I love you. Marry me.”

The last time Newt had been shocked into silence like this, Hermann had been offering to drift with him. Similar situations, he supposes: both times Hermann had come in with something crazy completely out of left field, and both times he had left Newt completely in awe at how tragic, brilliant, and _ridiculous_ he is. 

He looks down at Hermann, frozen. “What...what did you just say?”

“Marry me, Newton,” Hermann says, louder and firmer this time. He pushes himself up until Newt is sitting in his lap, takes hold of Newt’s hands. “I cannot bear to wait any longer. I’ve waited, I’ve waited _so very long_ to have you, to have this - it’s too much, I finally have you, and I refuse to ever let you go, Newton. I’ll never let you go again,” he holds Newt’s hands close to his chest, right over his heart. He ignores how fast it’s beating; so fast he think it’s going to jump right out of his chest. “I- I love you so much my heart aches, and I can’t bear the thought of ever being without you. I _have_ been without you, and I don’t want that, _ever again_. It’s just as you said: we’ve wasted far too much time, dancing around each other, not seeing eye to eye, searching for a way we could be together...I refuse to waste any more time. So...marry me, Newt. Please.”

Newt is silent for a moment. He looks down at his hands pressed against Hermann’s heart, then follows the line of his collarbone back up to meet his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, only to find that he has no words. 

He decides against talking.

Instead, he lunges forward, nearly knocking Hermann against the headboard as he presses his lips, furiously, against Hermann’s again. He loses himself momentarily in the flurry of hot, burning hot, _desperate_ kisses Hermann is eagerly returning. He feels hands slip under his shirt, exploring his hidden tattoos, seeking some kind of purchase on skin that’s stretched too thinly across his ribs, and he shivers, kissing harder with unbridled passion and neediness. He threads his fingers through Hermann’s now disheveled hair. Eventually, after what feels like hours, days, _months_ taking all this in, he finally breaks away, breathing heavy against Hermann’s swollen lips.

“God, Hermann,” he heaves, resisting the urge to jump into another kiss. “I- fuck, I love you. I love you _so_ fucking much. I-” he has to stop to catch his breath.

Hermann speaks before Newt can start again. “Is...is that a yes?”, equally as breathless.

Newt gives a hysterical wheeze of laughter. “Of course that’s a yes, you dumbass.”

Hermann feels like he’s been holding this breath this entire time, because he suddenly collapses back onto the headboard, melting into Newt’s touch. “Oh, oh, thank god,” he says. 

“What, did’ya think I was gonna say _no_?” Newt asks with mock irritation. “After all this time, you think I’m gonna _turn that down_?”

Hermann laughs. “Well, no, I just…” the laughter dies as his voice thickens; getting choked up, face crumpling in preparation for tears that are hanging dangerously at the precipice. He’s never been so happy in his whole life. He shouldn’t be crying. Why is he crying? _Why is he crying_? 

“God, dude, you’re crying a lot lately, huh?”

Hermann sniffs, trying to force the tears back into his eyes. His hands are suddenly sweaty, and he feels his cheeks begin to burn. “I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be,” Newt shifts onto his knees and touches their foreheads together. He strokes Hermann’s cheeks with his thumbs. “I get it.”

They stay like that for a while, holding each other. Content. Neither have any inclinations to move, until the weight that Newt has been failing to keep off Hermann’s hip gets a little too much, and Hermann starts to feel lightheaded, and he must start making faces or something because Newt moves off him, lying down again. He pulls Hermann down and forces him to nestle beside him - although it’s not like Hermann needed much encouragement. They wrap their arms around each other.

“I’ll marry you on one condition,” Newt pipes up, poking Hermann’s bony shoulder. “You throw away that god awful t-shirt of mine.” Hermann looks up at him, mortified. Newt internally slaps himself; he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold off on mentioning that. “Seriously man, I really hope you don’t wear that outside or anything. That band hasn’t been cool since two thousand and nineteen.”

Hermann scoffs, but he can’t hide a telling smile. “Last time I checked, that was _your_ t-shirt. No band you like has _ever_ been ‘cool’, to any degree.” he sighs. “Alright, I’ll dispose of it.”

“And we’re not getting married in a fucking church.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hermann agrees. “But that’s two conditions.”

“Oh, and I want a ring. Really - kinda cheap of you to propose without a ring, Herms.”

“I’ll buy you all the bloody jewelry in the world,” Hermann grumbles, his hand subconsciously finding its way back under Newt’s shirt, fondness betraying his tone. “On _one condition_.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that, babe?”

“You shut your stupid mouth and _go to sleep_.”

Newt hums in amusement and slithers down the mattress until Hermann’s head is buried in his neck. “You know I can’t promise anything,” he teases, fingers idly twirling a tangled lock of the other man’s hair.

“You’re truly insufferable,” Hermann mumbles into Newt’s collarbone. “I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope y'all don't mind that i'm not really taking the whole "newt is now a war criminal" into account, writing context for any of this shit is exhausting and it makes me sad and i'm juST HERE FOR THE GAYS GODDAMNIT
> 
> some post-uprising fics i've read have done a bloody marvelous job of expanding the canon and taking other characters and event into account, and i truly commend them for that, but i don't have the energy or emotional capacity to write about any of that. nothing but happy boys here!!
> 
> anyways, i'm gonna try to keep updating at least once a week until i run out of ideas for chapters. if anyone has anything in particular they'd like me to write about, feel free to leave me a suggestion at burngormanlesbian.tumblr.com :)))

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how often I'll update this, but I can definitely promise some additions; every chapter is gonna get more unbearably fluffy, so I apologise in advance.
> 
> If you enjoyed, catch me over at burngormanlesbian.tumblr.com! I'm soft and sad about newmann on main and that's basically my entire personality.


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